


Drawn

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modeling, Artist/Model AU, F/M, Mentions of past Matt/Elektra, Mentions of past Matt/OC, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: After a tough year, law student Matt Murdock is short on cash and still putting his broken heart back together. To make ends meet, he starts working as a model for Columbia University's art school, where he catches the imagination of lonely grad student Karen Page.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 72
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my cheerleaders, irelandhoneybee and Quietshade!
> 
> Update: [notawriterjustalurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker) has created two absolutely stunning pieces based on this story. (I'm overwhelmed!)
> 
> You can see [Karen's gorgeous drawing of Matt](https://notawriterjustalurker.tumblr.com/post/615926634746445824/based-on-the-fic-drawn-by-lily-ellison) and [a beautiful interpretation](https://notawriterjustalurker.tumblr.com/post/619439459074736128/lily-ellison-is-going-to-think-im-a-stalker-but) of a scene from Chapter 2.

It was funny how quickly you could get used to anything. Even stripping naked in front of strangers.

Matt didn’t hesitate as he untied the belt of his thin robe and took his spot in the middle of the classroom. The instructor, Professor Tremont, sang out her introductions and hastened to take the robe and his cane to put them aside for him.

Ever since he’d left the orphanage and started college, Matt had found that, in general, women were very nice to him once they’d seen him naked. He wasn’t above taking a little pride in it.

He supposed nude art modeling wasn’t the best line of work for a good Catholic boy. The nuns at St. Agnes would probably be scandalized if they knew. But even though he was young when he’d lost his sight, he still half-remembered lots of less-than-fully-clad imagery associated with the church.

So he figured the art aspect gave him a pass. It was about celebrating the human body, which was made in God’s image, right?

Despite the twinges to his conscience, he knew he needed this job. His student loans only went so far — the bill for Columbia Law School was not for the faint of heart. He had to earn extra cash if he wanted to make rent and keep living with Foggy.

“Quick charcoal sketches today,” Professor Tremont said. “Think about what pose you want to paint on Thursday.”

Matt couldn’t help tuning in as the class buzzed around him. The first few minutes were always interesting for someone with his abilities. He could hear the muttered reactions to his form, sense the quickening pulses.

“Wow, he’s built for a blind guy,” one student said under her breath.

“God. Don’t be ableist. He’s built for _anyone_ ,” the student next to her hissed softly.

Matt tried not to smirk as Professor Tremont finished directing him into his first pose. The student fitness center was open 24 hours a day, and he did tend to spend a lot of time there. Mostly in the middle of the night, when he could no longer ignore the sharp claws scraping inside his chest, and he needed to wrestle the devil back down the only way he could.

He refused to break his promise to his dad. He’d get his degree. And after that…well, he’d think about it then.

On weekends, Matt usually made the pilgrimage south to train at Fogwell’s Gym, back in Jack Murdock’s old stomping grounds. Ever since what happened last year, though, spending time pounding on the bags there just made him angrier instead of granting him any peace. But he hadn’t stopped going. It was still the place where he could feel closest to his dad.

The noise in the room around him dropped considerably as the students concentrated on their work. Matt liked to joke that he made the perfect model because he couldn’t see anyone staring at him — though the truth was, he was used to feeling like everyone’s eyes must be on him no matter what he was doing, taking in his glasses, his cane. It was welcome, in a way, to have them focus instead on his muscles, his bones, his poses — on the things his body could do, instead of the one thing it couldn’t.

Privately, Professor Tremont told him that another benefit was being spared the indignity of reviewing some of the final products. Not every aspiring artist was a natural at capturing the human body.

He’d first met Professor Tremont a few months ago, at the urging of an art student named Maria, who was very much a natural at capturing his human body. He’d gone home with her after a little bit of drinking and a whole lot of flirting at his and Foggy’s favorite watering hole, Arnold’s Thirst Parlor.

The next morning, he happened to mention that he was searching for work. Finding something that he could manage in addition to his law school studies was difficult, and he was never quite the “right fit” for the odd jobs he applied to.

“You know, they’re always looking for good models at SOA. And you’d be great. I know I would certainly love to sculpt you,” Maria said, running her hands over him suggestively. That had led to a very pleasant round two, and the suggestion stuck with him.

He didn’t hook up with Maria again — there hadn’t been any second nights, not since last year — but he’d found himself in Professor Tremont’s office not long after that. And sure enough, he’d nailed the audition and gotten the job.

Now that he was used to modeling, Matt usually struck his pose and then let his mind wander, going over the next paper he needed to write, or his arguments for mock trial.

But today, his attention kept catching on something. One particular heartbeat in the room.

He hadn’t posed for this group of students before. Professor Tremont said the class was mostly made up of underclassmen who would be more nervous than he was, plus a few older students who were taking the course for fun.

He wasn’t sure which group this woman belonged to. If he had to guess, he’d say she was among the older students. But she did seem nervous — or at least, interested. Her pulse hadn’t settled, like most of the others in the room did after the first several minutes. She smelled strongly of coffee, which might explain a little of the quickness of her heart, plus a soothing note of lavender and the welcome tang of summer rain. And something underneath, something that was elusive, made him want to bury his nose against her skin until he’d breathed in his fill.

But it wasn’t just her quick heartbeat, or her warm scent. The more he paid attention, the more he realized it was her focus that was unusual. Her fingers never stopped dancing over the work in front of her. While others paused to sigh and stall, to giggle or chat, she was always working, always moving.

And that never changed, all through the two-hour class. She took short breaks along with the rest of the students when he did, but as long as he was posing, she was sketching. The way her charcoal smoothed and skipped on the paper started to feel intimate. He lost track of whatever course work he was supposed to be thinking of. He lost track of the rest of the students.

All he heard and smelled and tasted was her.

It had never been like this before. He’d never felt like this was a two-way street, like the energy of artist and model could be caught in a feedback loop like this. He’d never felt like he was alone in the room with someone drawing him.

He thought about how intently she must be looking at him, at how the lines and curves of him were taking shape under her hands. She was making him hers. It was almost like she was touching him.

He had to stop thinking like this. He couldn’t dwell on the subtle musk underlying her scent, of the way she might feel under his own hands. Otherwise, he was definitely going to embarrass himself in front of a studio full of students.

But Matt found he wasn’t as eager as usual to put his robe back on at the end of the class. Usually he couldn’t wait to be done — posing was surprisingly tiring and he generally got cold and bored well before his time was up. But today, it felt like he was cutting off a connection.

She made a soft noise of surprise as he belted the robe and started crossing the room with his cane. She’d clearly lost track of time and missed what was going on around her. The other students began to shuffle out of the studio with him, but she went back to her work, putting on little touches here and there.

“You’re always the last one here, Paige,” Professor Tremont said as Matt began to change back into his street clothes in the room next door.

“I think I’m just slow,” the woman said. Her voice was even better than he’d hoped, satisfying as a well-placed punch. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken a class and I’m rusty.”

“Well, I can’t tell that from your work,” the professor said. Matt heard paper shuffling. “Oh, I really like what you’ve got here.” Tremont wasn’t flattering — her heartbeat said she meant it. “Those lines really capture power. He looks almost angry. ‘Simmering’ is the word I’d use.”

Matt’s breath caught.

The woman made a sound that said she was pleased by the professor’s praise. “He looked different to me in different poses,” she said. “Fierce sometimes, but also so gentle.” More rustling. “His hands here, and his mouth—you see.”

“I do. Or, really, you do. Nice work.” Tremont made a noise of interest. “And this one?” Her voice had a hint of amusement in it, and Matt thought he would feel the student blush if he was in the same room.

“Oh. Um. I was kind of picking up on a different energy by the end,” she said.

“Well. It certainly has an effect on the viewer.” Tremont cleared her throat.

The woman laughed and, oh, God, what a sound. Matt paused in buttoning his shirt, taken aback at how much he wanted to make her do that again.

He thought briefly of trying to time his exit from the building to match hers. But by the time he was sliding his glasses into place, she had already darted past the room he was in and hurried down the hallway toward the glass doors leading outside. He probably shouldn’t be surprised that her step was as quick as her fingers. As her heart.

Matt couldn’t quite get away with running after her, and he wasn’t really even supposed to know her name. As much as he wanted to talk to her, to hear more of her voice and learn more about who she was, he didn’t want to scare her off, either.

Luckily, there was Thursday. He’d be back in class for another two hours with her — and all her fellow students, of course.

He was already looking forward to it. And he had a feeling his dreams between now and then would be full of Paige.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is complete and I'll be posting the other three chapters over the course of this week.
> 
> Also, I know nothing about art. Or law school. This was written entirely out of thirst. :D


	2. Chapter 2

“We can all agree that we want a rear-view pose today, right? That ass is just begging to be painted.”

Karen giggled as she set up her easel before Thursday’s class began. She certainly didn’t have any objections to the suggestion from her fellow student — whose name was...Leah, maybe? Matt the model had a very fine rear-view. Matt the model had a very fine _everything_.

“All right, since no one’s contradicting that idea, I’ll tell Tremont,” Leah — or was it Lara? — said. “I’m sure she’ll be into it.”

Karen bit her lip. She couldn’t believe that she was going to receive legitimate college credit for two hours of looking at the world’s greatest ass. Sometimes her life was a little too surreal.

She was still stunned that she got to wake up every morning and take classes in Morningside Heights. If you had told her six years ago, on the cold morning she left Fagan Corners, that she would put herself through college working a variety of crappy jobs, and then at the end of it, win a prestigious fellowship to study at the Columbia School of Journalism, she would have told you to fuck off and stop wasting her time.

But she’d done it. She had worked herself to the bone, and she was absolutely brimming with accomplishment to show for it. But one thing hadn’t changed in the last six years — she was still hopelessly alone.

Art called to her for that very reason. It was another way to feel close to her mom, just like putting on her mother’s necklace every morning was her secret reminder that someone had loved her once. The two of them had started making art together as soon as Karen was old enough to hold a crayon, and they sketched side by side, even in the hospital, until Penny Page was too weak to hold a pencil.

Karen had chosen this class after her adviser told her she needed to make time for something creative outside her required courses or she was going to grind herself into pieces too small to put back together again. 

It was pure luck that it turned out to be the place she encountered the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen. It wasn’t like she’d expected an ugly model — though that was certainly a possibility — but holy fuck. Every last inch of him was stunning.

Karen watched Matt closely as he walked into the room, his cane ahead of him, and got settled in front of the class. He didn’t seem to feel any embarrassment about taking off his robe. And why should he?

His only flaw, if he could be found to have one at all, was that he might possibly benefit from a haircut. But when Karen imagined pushing that thatch of hair back from his face and running her fingers through it, even that one tiny fault turned into something incredibly appealing.

She didn’t think you were supposed to fantasize about touching the class model, or wonder extensively about what he would be like in bed. It was probably frowned upon. But, then again, she’d seen the way Professor Tremont responded to that sketch of hers where Matt the model seemed to be practically glowing with desire. So she probably wasn’t alone.

But really, Karen didn’t know anything about him except that he was breathtaking to look at and he could stand perfectly still. Maybe he was a jerk. Maybe he was dumb. Maybe he was a dumb jerk.

She kept that in mind as she began to paint, trying to stop herself from letting her mind wander to inappropriate places. But it still took more effort than usual to concentrate, and she was grateful when it was time for the first break, and Matt put his thin robe back on.

She rubbed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen up.

“So how’s that new criminal law class going?” she heard Professor Tremont ask Matt. “I know you were especially anxious to get started with that one.”

“It’s great,” Matt said. “I really feel like it’s the right path for me to pursue after graduation.”

“Good for you,” the professor said.

Karen’s eyebrows went up. Matt the model was a law student? So much for him being dumb, at least. Columbia Law was one of the toughest schools to get into in the country. And the eager, puppyish way he smiled while talking about his future made her think he probably wasn’t a jerk, either.

It was funny to imagine Matt as a lawyer, though. She tried to think of that body of his — the power of it, the sensuality of every dip and swell — all buttoned down and tucked in. She was sure he looked great in anything, but it was a shame to cover him up.

_Mmm_ , though, what a pleasure it would be to unwrap him again, at the end of a long day, knowing all the treasures in store.

Fuck, if she kept this up, she was going to need a cold shower.

After the break, she threw herself back into her work, trying to get lost in color and shape. But even though her determination to focus didn’t fail her, the conditions around her did. She couldn’t get the light and shadow to play together in the way she wanted them to.

She was still trying in vain to get her vision to translate, grumbling with annoyance, when she looked up and realized class was over, and a robe-clad Matt was standing by her easel.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

Her mouth dropped open. “I’m fine,” she said, confused. “Why do you ask?”

“Uh, my hearing’s pretty sharp,” he said, a little sheepishly. “I couldn’t help but notice you seemed upset.”

Karen flushed, embarrassed that he had noticed but flattered that he was concerned. “Was I that loud? Sorry,” she said. “It’s the lighting in here. It’s all wrong at this time of day for what I want. I wish we were in my apartment.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she had said, and her cheeks heated to flaming. She rushed to explain. “The lighting is perfect there, I mean. That’s why I picked it, even though it’s smaller than the other apartments I looked at.”

“I could come by sometime, if you like.”

“What?” Her mouth went dry, and her heart thumped almost through the wall of her chest.

“I’ve done private sittings before,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Karen said, feeling slightly stupid, “I couldn’t afford to pay you.” She meant to stop there, but she found herself adding, “The best I could do would be to cook for you.”

Why the hell had she said _that_? She wasn’t even that good in the kitchen. She expected him to laugh, or say something sarcastic, but instead he frowned with interest.

“It’s been a while since I had a home-cooked meal.”

He couldn’t be serious. But he seemed serious. And the chance to have Matt the model in her apartment made her feel more than a little giddy. “I’ve been needing an excuse to make my grandmother’s lasagna,” she said. “It’s delicious, but it feels too extravagant to make it for myself.”

Well, that sounded pathetic. Could she make it any clearer that she didn’t have any friends in New York? But Matt didn’t seem to notice the whiff of desperation in her comment. He actually looked pleased.

“I could definitely be tempted by lasagna.” He held out his hand. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“I know,” she said as she shook it, feeling her whole body light up with warmth. “I’m Karen.”

“Karen?” he said, surprised. “But I thought—I mean, didn’t I hear Professor Tremont call you Paige?”

“First name Karen, last name Page, like the ones in a book.”

“Got it,” Matt said, his smile wide enough to get lost in. “First name Matthew, last name Murdock, like...Murdock.”

Karen laughed, feeling utterly charmed. Damn him. “Good to know.”

“Well, Miss Page, when should I stop by to try your grandmother's secret recipe?”

“Would tomorrow evening work?” she asked before she could second-guess herself.

“I’ll make it work,” he said, in a rumbling way that made her stomach flip.

He fetched his phone from the next room and she gave him her address. She told him to be there at a time when the sun would be on its way down and the light slanting through her big western window would be perfect.

Then she tried not to scream the entire way home.

+

By the time Matt was scheduled to arrive the next day, Karen was tied completely in knots. In her tiny apartment, there was barely enough room for two people, and the space she’d set up for her easel was necessarily right next to her bed. The thought of Matt the model right there in her bedroom, naked, was making her unable to think straight.

Why did she ever believe this was a good idea?

But it was too late to back out now. She heard the buzzer and she popped the lasagna into her Barbie-sized oven before she went to let Matt in. The food could cook while they worked, and they could eat after the sitting. That is, if she managed to calm down long enough to hold a paintbrush.

“Smells great in here,” Matt said when she guided him into her place. As she predicted, it was strange to see him fully dressed. He was wearing red-tinted glasses, a henley and jeans. He looked incredibly hot, of course, but also much more aloof than she was used to. So much of him seemed to hide behind those glasses. She couldn’t wait for him to take them off and become her Matt again.

Her subject, that is. He was far from _her_ Matt.

“I’ll give you a tour,” she said. “If you take more than three steps in any direction, you’ve reached the end of the tour.” He laughed, and then she added, more seriously, “The bathroom is straight ahead from where you’re standing if you need it.”

“Thanks,” he said.

They both stood there awkwardly.

“Should we get started?” he asked and she almost sighed with relief.

“Sure.” She didn’t know what to suggest — the combination of his blindness and his about-to-be-nakedness was completely throwing her off — but he was already in motion. He folded up his cane and she put it on the shelf near the door. Then he started to tug off his shirt. Damn, he moved fast.

“There’s, um, there’s a chair on your left side where you can put things if you want,” she said, and his discarded clothes were soon piled there, with his glasses resting on top. 

“Just tell me where you want me,” he said, and Karen had to swallow hard before she could answer.

“I’m sitting at my easel now,” she said. “If you take a couple steps in this direction and turn away from me, we should be all set.”

He got into position easily enough, though he bumped just slightly into her bed and reached his hand out to steady himself. He was naked and touching her bed and she was never going to survive this.

“Same pose as yesterday, right?” he said, already holding it perfectly.

“Yeah,” she said breathily. “That is, if you’re still OK with this.”

“Of course,” he said. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.”

She swallowed and started to work. She thought it would probably be nice if she tried to chat a little, to put him at ease, but she needed every bit of her willpower just to keep her brush moving. She was gratified to see that the light was indeed exactly what she wanted, and she became engrossed in capturing the way the setting sun dappled the sweep of his shoulders, the breadth of his back, the narrowing of his waist. It all came out on the canvas like magic — the shading of his powerful thighs, the roundness of his buttocks.

As she brought him to life with her paints, Karen realized she was breathing heavier and heavier with every stroke. She couldn’t help where her mind was going, and she found herself pressing her thighs together and shifting in her seat.

The room felt charged with tension. She wondered if he could sense it, too, or if it was all in her own head. This was probably just business as usual for him. Meanwhile, she was getting hotter and hotter and she had no idea what she was going to do. A soft groan of frustration slipped from her lips.

“Karen?”

“Sorry. The light is better here, but I’m still struggling to get the contours right,” she lied.

“Maybe you’re relying too much on your eyes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously, I can’t use mine. So I create an impression through smell and taste and hearing...and touch.”

“You’re saying—?” He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

“Maybe you need to touch me, Karen.”

She closed her eyes, overwhelmed. “You wouldn’t mind?” she whispered.

“I want you to.” His voice was husky.

Karen was breathless, but she didn’t need any more encouragement. It was only a few steps. She reached up and rested her hands lightly on his shoulders, electricity zipping up and down her spine. She ran her fingertips in toward his neck, over his nape and into his lush hair. Then she pulled her hands down his back, spreading her fingers wide over his shoulder blades and luxuriating in the sleekness of him as she moved toward his waist. And then there was nothing else to wait for. She traced her fingers lightly over his ass, down to his legs, memorizing the exact curve of him.

“That’s helpful,” she choked.

His breath was coming fast and he wasn’t moving away from her. She was completely lost, unsure of what to do next. He wanted her to touch him. Did that mean he wanted to—?

Instead of sitting back down, she trailed her knuckles up from the base of his spine to his neck, traveling over a long stretch of smooth skin. She curled her hand around the spot where his neck sloped into his shoulder, feeling suddenly drunk on touching him. Dizzy enough to dip her head and let her lips press and linger on the opposite side of his neck.

He inhaled a bit sharply at the touch of her mouth, but on exhale, it sounded like a moan. Her other arm snaked around his waist, bringing her body closer against his back, and he quickly covered her hand with his own, keeping her in place. A wild, joyful relief flooded through her. He wanted this, too. Her need for him was so consuming now that she might have burst into flames if she couldn’t have him.

They didn't move for a few long moments. Karen soaked in the smell of his skin, the heat of him so close to her, and reveled in the intimacy of it. This felt more intense already than any sexual experience she’d had and she was still fully dressed.

When he shifted, she was half-hoping he would guide her hand down lower, but instead he pulled away long enough to turn around. And, fuck, he was magnificent — his expression dark with desire, his cock hard and straining for her.

“Can I touch you?” he asked hoarsely.

“God, yes,” she sighed, and she immediately started pulling off her clothes. She remembered doing a quick study of his hands on that first day he modeled in class, and she filled with liquid lust at the thought of having them on her body. She was so tempted to rush this. She had been ready for him since the minute he started stripping off his clothes, and the thought of pulling him down onto her bed and getting him inside her was almost irresistible.

But she’d spent hours studying him, and he knew so little about her in comparison. She wanted to give him a chance to _discover_ , with those hands, with that absolutely sinful mouth of his. She shivered in anticipation of his kisses.

Karen shed her sweater and jeans, and she stood in front of him in her bra and underwear. He reached for her, but the moment his fingers brushed over her skin, the entire apartment filled with an obnoxious beeping, and Matt pulled back like he’d been burned.

It was the oven timer.

She’d just been cockblocked by her goddamn lasagna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out notawriterjustalurker's [amazing art](https://notawriterjustalurker.tumblr.com/post/619439459074736128/lily-ellison-is-going-to-think-im-a-stalker-but) based on this scene!


	3. Chapter 3

Matt sank down onto Karen’s bed, trying to catch his breath. When the beeping started, she’d run off to the kitchen with a hasty apology. He smiled a little as he listened to her banging around in there, muttering curses under her breath.

He hoped the interruption wasn’t going to change the course of the evening too much. He’d been just about to get his hands on her, and dammit, he still wanted to. Badly. He knew that Karen was tall and slim, that she blushed easily, and that she could move with both incredible grace and jittery awkwardness. But he wanted to explore every curve of her, to study her with his fingers as she had studied him with her brushes.

He had only known her for a few days — and that was using “known” loosely, since he hadn’t even actually learned her name or talked to her until the day before. But so far, he liked everything about her. He was still thinking about the conversation he’d overheard between Karen and Professor Tremont on that first day, and the way Karen had caught all of his changes in mood — the anger he felt when he thought about the events of last year and his conflict with his dad’s memory, the softness that had come over him when he noticed her, the desire that was tugging at him by the end of the session. The idea that she might be able to perceive all of him, not just the darkness, not just the light, but both — it was tantalizing.

He couldn’t deny that he’d come here mostly with the hope of taking sweet-smelling, silver-voiced Karen Page to bed, but the more time he spent with her, the more she touched something deep inside him.

He stood up quickly and took an eager step forward as he heard her coming back from the kitchen. 

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Did that completely kill the mood?”

In answer, he reached out his hand to her, and she let him pull her toward him. He cupped her face with his other hand, tracing her lips with his thumb. He leaned in close, enjoying the way her pulse jumped, and he kissed her on the tender spot where her jaw met her neck. 

“Not for me,” he murmured.

He trailed his lips over her cheek, pressing quick kisses as he went, until he was almost to her mouth. Then he started again on the other side, nuzzling just under her ear. She clutched him closer, anticipation coiling through her muscles, and finally, he kissed her fully on the lips.

It was gentle at first — soft, sweet, her lips warm and parted. But then her tongue slipped into his mouth and her hands slipped into his hair and he groaned. He curled his fingers around her neck, feeling agitated, hungry. He tasted her thoroughly, learning her mouth, and then he lowered his head to feast on her throat. He sucked at her delicate skin, intoxicated by her flavor. The thought of marking her, of leaving a bright spot of heat that he could sense and everyone else could see, made his cock throb intensely, but he made himself stop just short of leaving a bruise.

This wasn’t like him — this surge of possessiveness. He was usually pretty casual about his hookups, lately at least, but Karen was proving to be the exception. She’d crawled completely under his skin.

When he told her he’d done private sittings before, he hadn’t exactly been telling the truth. He’d certainly gotten offers from artists who were clearly more than professionally interested in him, but he’d never actually accepted. She was the only one he’d ever wanted to go home with.

He tried to make himself calm down a little, but it was no use, especially when her mouth found his again. Her hands were running over his chest, his stomach, his hips, thrillingly close to his cock, and he was stripping off her bra, impatient to taste more of her. He whirled her around and encouraged her to lie across the bed, hovering over her as he sucked one tight, sweet nipple into his mouth and caressed her other breast with his hand. “Fuck, Matt,” she gasped, fisting her hand in his hair, tight enough to sting a little, tight enough to make him work even harder.

The heavy scent of her arousal was becoming impossible to resist, and after he’d savored both of her breasts, he allowed himself to move lower, slipping under her panties and sliding through her wetness with his fingers. She let out a long moan at his touch, her muscles tensing.

“Can I put my mouth on you?” he asked, and she answered with a strangled, desperate _yes_.

He pulled her underwear away and positioned her right at the edge of the mattress, draping her legs over his shoulders as he knelt on the floor. He kissed her inner thighs, dragging his open mouth over her sensitive skin. He breathed in deeply, completely blanketed in the rich, tangy smell of her, and he pressed his lips against her before letting his tongue dip in to taste. The sound that escaped her made him ache to get up and bury himself to the hilt inside her, but what he wanted more than anything was to make her feel good.

He worked her up slowly, his tongue circling her clit, his fingers sliding inside her, until she was panting. “Don’t stop. Oh, god, Matt. Please don’t stop.” Her thighs were clenching tight around his head and her hips were moving and it was so damn satisfying to push her over the edge and ride it out with her.

“Jesus,” she said afterward, sounding overwhelmed. “That was...wow.”

He attempted a smile, but he was needy and leaking and struggling to hold himself together.

Blessedly, she took mercy on him, and before long, she was rolling a condom on him and urging him inside. The heat of her was transcendant and he moaned, knowing there was no fucking way he could last long.

“Don’t worry about going slow,” she breathed. “Just give it to me.”

And oh fuck, he was almost done for right then. But he held on, just barely, and delivered what she asked for. She spurred him on, nipping at his shoulder, digging her fingers into his back, squeezing his ass, heedless of the noise they were both making and the fact that they were shaking pretty much the entire apartment. She engulfed him like flames.

He didn’t know it could be like this. No one had ever made him feel lit up like this except... But it was different with Karen. He felt all the excitement, the wonder, the desire, without the knife at his throat. He felt drawn instead of pushed, invited instead of invaded.

He barely knew this woman and yet he was starting to get the tiniest idea of what it could be like with someone you trusted, with someone who trusted you, how far and how deep you could go. It was exhilarating, scary in a completely new way.

She'd seen the way he "simmered." Could she ever understand the violence in his soul? 

But he lost the thought, he lost everything to the feel of her body and the relentless drumbeat of her heart.

+

“You’re hungry,” he said later with a smile. He hadn’t been able to stop touching her, running his palms over her supple limbs, nuzzling her neck, tangling his fingers into her hair.

“You heard that too?” she laughed, laying her hand over her stomach. “Well, I did promise you lasagna. I’m sure it’s still warm.”

A few minutes later, they were in her kitchen, just barely dressed, and Karen was putting a plate of lasagna and a fork on the counter in front of him. They started to eat standing up, crowded together because there was hardly room for both of them in the narrow space.

Matt sighed happily as the first bite filled his mouth, the bright tomato sauce and rich cheese exploding across his tongue. “Oh, that’s delicious,” he said after he swallowed.

“I’m glad you agree. I wouldn’t want you to think I lured you here under false pretenses,” she said, giggling.

“I’m here because I have a deep commitment to the arts,” Matt said mock-seriously. Karen bumped him with her hip.

“Have you always wanted to be an artist?” he asked as he cut another bite of lasagna with his fork.

“Oh, I don’t want to be an artist,” Karen said. “Not professionally. I love it, but it’s just a hobby for me. Well, other than the grade I’m going to get for Tremont’s class. I’m actually in the j-school. I’m getting my master’s in journalism.”

Matt shook his head. “So you’re a reporter. I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Journalism and art — they actually have a lot in common. They’re about observing, seeing the details, and trying to put them together in a way that makes people feel things. But I like journalism because it’s more direct. Just like me,” she said self-deprecatingly. “And it’s easier to help people with it.”

“Is that what you want to do? Help people?” Matt smiled.

“Of course. How about you? You’re a law student, aren’t you? Why do you want to be a lawyer?”

“They make the big bucks, right?” he said mischievously. “Actually, I promised my dad. And I want to help the people back in my neighborhood. I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen and I want to practice there. The people in the Kitchen deserve better breaks. They need someone fighting for them.”

Karen reached out and touched his arm gently. He turned toward her.

“The reason I didn’t expect that you were a journalist,” he said softly, “is because people usually ask more questions about me.” He gestured toward his face. “And reporters ask questions for a living.”

“Oh,” she said, and he detected a note of guilt in her voice. “Since I knew you were coming over...Um, I’m interning at the New York Bulletin, and I looked at the archives during my shift last night. I, uh, I know about the man you saved when you were younger, and about your dad. I’m sorry.” She touched his arm again. “And I’m sorry if that was overstepping.”

Matt shrugged, glad he didn’t have to explain for once. “You were probably going to find out soon enough. And it’s public record.”

“I do have a question for you, though,” Karen said, her voice shading toward the flirtatious. She ran her hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “How do you comb your hair without a mirror?”

Matt laughed. “Honestly, I just hope for the best. Or count on Foggy to tell me if it looks bad.”

“Foggy?”

“My roommate. You’d like him. And he’d _love_ you.”

“Hold still,” Karen said. “You’ve got a tiny bit of tomato sauce right…” She leaned in close, her tongue darting out just a little to lick away the sauce on his upper lip. She followed it with a kiss that was full of heat, and he returned it with equal fervor, feeling his passion for her spark and reignite inside him.

He slid his hands up under her shirt — well, _his_ shirt — and began exploring her bare skin again. “Are you auditioning for the mirror job?” he asked huskily.

“Hmmm,” she said thoughtfully, twining her arms around his neck. “I do like looking at you.”

He smiled against her lips before kissing her again and again. One touch led to another and another until he was dying to fuck her right there on the kitchen counter.

But they needed a condom, so she guided him back to her bed, where they started the whole process over again. They went slowly and leisurely this time, only stopping when they were both sated and exhausted.

But even as he drifted off to sleep next to her, breathing in the warm sweetness of her hair, Matt knew that it wasn’t going to be enough.

He already wanted a second night.

And he was getting the feeling that he was going to want many nights with Karen Page.


	4. Chapter 4

Karen couldn’t believe she had an actual date with Matt the model. Yes, she’d had sex with him several times, but she kind of expected that to be just a one-night-and-the-next-morning thing. He was literally a nude model. He probably had people throwing themselves at him all day long.

But before he left on Saturday morning, he’d gotten her to agree to meet up with his friends for drinks that night.

“I want you to meet Foggy,” he said, and she was touched that he wanted to introduce her to his bestie. Maybe she could even make some new friends, too.

But then she remembered why she didn’t really have any friends, and she hesitated. “I have to work,” she said. “I’m going to be at the Bulletin all day.”

“We probably won’t even make it to Arnold’s until 10. Do you have to work that late?”

Karen wet her lips nervously. “Probably not, but…”

Matt nodded sadly. “Oh, I get it. I understand if you want to leave this here.”

And he looked so much like a dejected puppy, and she liked him so goddamn much, that she couldn’t handle it. “No, it’s not that,” she said. “I think—yeah, I should be able to make it.”

His face lit up like the billboards in Times Square, and he kissed her with excitement. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

But Karen was anxious. Introductions generally led to personal questions, and for lots of people, it was perfectly natural to ask about someone’s family — their parents, their sisters, their brothers. She should be good at dodging that stuff by now, but it always shook her up. But maybe it wouldn’t come up. Maybe she’d get lucky.

And she really couldn’t resist the opportunity to get lucky again with Matt. She felt hot all over every time she thought about him. How could she say no to more of the best sex she’d ever had?

So, after she finished filing her boring but necessary briefs for the online edition of the Bulletin, she went home and changed carefully. She wanted to look casual but not out of place next to her swoonworthy date. She curled her hair and put on a bit of makeup, laughing at herself because it wasn’t going to make much difference to Matt. But she supposed the guy she was trying to make a good impression on tonight was Foggy. She was meeting the Best Friend.

Arnold’s was around the corner and a block down from her apartment, so it didn’t take her long to get there. Matt was waiting outside, wearing his glasses again. She was still trying to get used to seeing him with so many clothes on.

“Hey, you,” she said affectionately when she got close, putting her hand on his arm.

“Karen,” he said, and the way his voice sounded, happy and almost disbelieving, took her breath away. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Her emotions bubbled over and she kissed him, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. Without really meaning to, she pressed him back into the brick wall of the building, her mouth slanting over his hungrily. She felt his hands slide into her back pockets.

“Damn, Murdock, get a room,” a woman said with amusement as she walked past them into the bar. They broke apart reluctantly.

Matt was smirking. “I guess we should go inside,” he said, grabbing his cane from where it rested against the wall next to him.

They were barely through the door before a voice rang out loudly. “As I live and breathe, it’s Matt Murdock arriving on the arm of a beautiful blonde. Hallelujah, everyone! He’s back!”

Matt laughed, but she thought he sounded embarrassed. “Save it, Foggy,” he said.

“Ooh,” Foggy said, coming closer. “You really like her,” he added under his breath, still plenty loud enough for Karen to hear him.

She shook her head, grinning like an idiot. Matt officially introduced her to Foggy then, and she shook his hand, not quite sure what to make of him. Foggy pointed out more of their friends. There was the woman who told them to get a room, whose name was Aurora; a remarkably handsome dude getting drinks at the bar named Emilio; and a few others whose names slid out of Karen’s brain as soon as she heard them. But they all greeted her cheerfully as they sat down at a table.

The conversation quickly turned to law school stuff that Karen wasn’t really following — too distracted by trading surreptitious touches with Matt under the table. His hand was riding dangerously high on her thigh when they heard his name and both of them snapped to attention.

“You sound like Murdock,” Emilio was saying. “He only wants to represent the innocent. Everyone else — forget about ’em. Lock ’em up and throw away the key. Let their asses rot in prison.”

Everyone around the table laughed at Emilio’s exaggerated tone, but Karen could feel her cheeks burning. She’d seen that...simmering in Matt, and she’d gotten this feeling in her gut, like maybe he had demons, too. But how could she ever have expected someone like him — someone who was so good he'd saved a man's life when he was only a child — to ever accept someone like her?

Matt’s hand curled tightly around his beer bottle. “That’s not true,” he said. “People make mistakes. Rehabilitation is important. Anyone willing to work for one should be given a second chance.”

“That’s the Catholic in him,” Foggy said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Big on redemption.”

The discussion quickly moved on to something else, but all Karen could think about was Matt’s words. When his hand found hers under the table, she let him take it. “You OK?” he whispered, pressing his lips to her cheek.

“I could use another drink,” she murmured back, wanting to get some distance from the group.

They excused themselves to go to the bar and then made themselves at home on neighboring stools. Karen sipped her beer, trying to wash back the words that were bubbling up. The part of her that could never leave well enough alone wanted to push him — on his religion, on his moral philosophy — to see if he really meant it. To see if he’d admit that not everyone deserved a second chance, that the kind of thing she’d done was unforgivable.

But he turned to her with a sweet smile, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair. His hand brushed against her neck and she saw his expression intensify as he encountered the delicate chain she was wearing. He followed it with curious fingers until he reached the pendant of her mother’s necklace. She held her breath.

“I like this,” he said, before pulling his hand away and taking another drink.

And Karen leaned her head onto his shoulder for a moment, unable to stop her heart from deciding that, for tonight at least, it was OK to believe him. For tonight, it was OK to fall a little bit in love.

They talked about other things instead — their favorite spots on campus, Karen’s internship, Matt’s tendency to listen to ’90s Top 40.

And when Matt headed for the bathroom, Foggy slid into his seat, much to Karen’s surprise.

“You guys having a good time?” Foggy asked.

“So far,” Karen said noncommittally.

Foggy sighed. “Look, I shouldn’t be saying anything, but I’m pretty drunk right now and I think you should know… There was a girl last year. Very bad news. She treated Matt like crap, broke his heart. He was wrecked when she left. He even missed a deadline for one of his scholarships, which made things harder on him moneywise this year.”

“Hence the modeling,” Karen said, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah.” Foggy looked her in the eye. “Promise me you won’t screw him over.”

“This is literally our first date,” Karen reminded him.

“But you really like him.”

Karen rolled her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

“You both seem pretty into each other,” Foggy said kindly. “Just keep what I said in mind, OK? Be gentle.”

Karen huffed out an amused breath. “Foggy, can I tell you a secret?”

“Only if it’s not materially harmful to my bestest buddy.”

“It’s not. I swear.”

“OK. Shoot.”

“I fed him my grandmother’s lasagna last night.”

Foggy’s face took on an expression of mock-horror. “You fiend! What did your poor grandmother eat?”

Karen laughed and hit his shoulder. “It was her recipe.” Karen picked at the label on her beer bottle nervously. “She made me promise only to serve it to my future husband.”

"Whoa," Foggy said, taken aback.

"I've never made it for a guy before," Karen continued. "I didn't mean for it to mean anything. But who knows? Maybe this'll be...something." She was blushing hard now.

“Aww.” Foggy wrapped his arm around her in a half-hug.

“Don’t tell him,” Karen said warningly.

“I won’t.” Foggy let go and aimed a big smile her way. “I like you, K.”

“K?”

“Just go with it.”

Karen was about to protest, but she noticed Matt approaching, smiling like the cat that got the cream for some reason. He leaned over her on the barstool, his voice in her ear. “Ready to go?”

Karen bit her lip. A glance at her phone showed they’d been at Arnold’s for less than an hour, but she was as eager to go home as he seemed to be. She looked over at Foggy.

“Sure, sure, don’t mind me,” Foggy said. “You two kids have fun.”

“Good night, buddy,” Matt said, patting his friend on the back as Karen stood up. And when Matt reached for her elbow, she moved his hand into hers instead. "This OK?" she asked. He twined their fingers together in answer.

The night air felt exactly like the relief it was. Karen knew everything could have gone so much worse, but she was wondering again if she could really do this. If she could really let Matt know her, or if she should stop this soon, before she was in over her head. Despite Foggy’s warning, she thought the chances were greater that she would be the one who was wrecked.

“You’re quiet,” Matt said when they neared her apartment building. There was never any question of where they were headed — they hadn’t even talked about it. As conflicted as she was, one more night with him was worth the risk to her heart.

“I was thinking about what you said,” she answered honestly. “The part about second chances.”

“Need one?” Matt asked playfully, squeezing her hand.

“Don’t we all, at some point?” she returned seriously. “We all have some...regret or darkness inside. Pieces of us we want to keep hidden.”

They were at her front stoop now. Matt raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “But sometimes you meet someone,” he said softly, “and you think maybe it would be worth it — not to keep them hidden anymore.”

Karen smiled a little, her heart in her throat. “So...maybe we could share them,” she said. “Someday.”

“Someday,” he echoed, kissing her with a mouth full of promise. “Soon.”

“Soon,” she said, tugging his hand and starting up the steps. “But not tonight.”

“No,” he agreed. “No talking tonight.”

“You’re going to pose for me again, right?” she said. “This total lack of natural light is perfect.”

Matt chuckled. “I thought maybe we could skip that part this time.”

“What happened to your deep commitment to the arts?” Karen teased.

She couldn’t really justify why she suddenly felt like everything between them was going to be all right. But she knew, if nothing else, that she’d be waking up next to Matt tomorrow, and for now, that was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I really appreciate the very kind comments you've left!
> 
> If you haven't yet, check out [the amazing art](https://notawriterjustalurker.tumblr.com/post/615926634746445824/based-on-the-fic-drawn-by-lily-ellison) created for this story by [notawriterjustalurker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notawriterjustalurker/pseuds/Notawriterjustalurker). It's better than the story! :D


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